


Chill, Matching Sweaters?!

by unacaritafeliz



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Just 2000 words of the tadpoles being whipped as fuck for each other, Kinda ooc but just let me have this, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unacaritafeliz/pseuds/unacaritafeliz
Summary: Tango raises an eyebrow at her before turning to look across the Quad. Foxtrot has the quick, desperate hope that he won't notice Whiskey sitting there because she won't survive the chirps if he...Tango's eyes light up.God fucking damn it.[Making matching sweaters for her fellow tadpoles is easy. Actually giving one to Whiskey? Unbelievably hard].





	Chill, Matching Sweaters?!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place early in Year 4.

Foxtrot fiddles with the ends of her hair scarf as she watches Whiskey from across Lake Quad. He's, quite surprisingly, by himself, sitting against an older oak tree, reading a thick textbook as the afternoon sunlight dances in his hair. It's the first time she's seen him alone in a week, away from team events, and not in the company of that blonde lax bro that always seems to be following him around.

She should go over there. She has no excuse not to go over there. And yet, here she is, decidedly not going over there but watching him from across the quad like some kind of gross, pathetic stalker, instead.

"Hey Foxtrot," says a warm voice, and Foxtrot jumps, turning to see Tango sitting down next to her. "Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing!" Foxtrot replies, in fast, squeaky voice that is probably not suspicious at all.

Tango raises an eyebrow at her - and God, that perpetually confused look he has really should not be attractive as it is - before turning to look across the Quad. Foxtrot has the quick, desperate hope that he won't notice Whiskey sitting there because she won't survive the chirps if he...

Tango's eyes light up.

God fucking damn it.

"Oh," says Tango, feigning nonchalance, as he turns to looks back at her. His eyes are wide with excitement. It's terrifying. "Are you finally going to give it to him?"

Tango winks, and Foxtrot rolls her eyes even as her heart flips unreasonably in her chest. Honestly, the upperclassmen are so dumb for thinking that Tango is innocent. No one else on the team knows how to make innuendos quite like he does.

"I may possibly give the sweater to him," Foxtrot says, looking back towards Whiskey. "I haven't made up my mind yet."

Tango sighs, dramatically collapsing down so he can rest his head in her lap. Her hand subconsciously floats down to play with his hair.

"It's been like two weeks, Foxtrot," Tango complains. "What are you so scared of? It's only Whiskey."

"I'm not scared," Foxtrot says, emphatically. "I'm just..."

Scared. She's just scared.

It's stupid, because Denice Ford has never been scared of anything in her life. She's dealt with lead actors dropping out during tech week, and her brother's peewee football team, and the disgusting monstrosity that is the Samwell Men's Hockey locker rooms with her head held high and a glint in her eye and yet the mere possibility of being emotionally vulnerable in front of one Connor Whisk is enough to make her want to die or lock herself in the unused, and possibly haunted, supply closet at Faber for the rest of her life.

"Okay, look," says Tango, "I know Whiskey can be a little, uh...?"

Tango trails off, and looks up at her as if she knows the word he's looking for. Foxtrot shrugs. There's many words that can complete that sentence and she honestly thinks Tango is way too kind for most of them, especially when Whiskey is involved.

"Distant?" she offers.

"Distant!" Tango repeats, triumphantly. His smile is broad and bright as he reaches up to tap at her nose with his index finger. "He's a little distant. But he's not cruel. You know that right? He's not going to make fun of you or anything. He's really nice and patient. He'll be good."

Oh Tony, Foxtrot thinks. He's in so deep.

It could be heartbreaking, how much Tango's in love with Whiskey, but Foxtrot's pretty sure Tango likes her too. She's not going to act on anything until she knows where they both stand with Whiskey, but she knows that she Tango will somehow make it work one day. There's not much that's hard to tell about Tango; he wears his emotions on his face and his thoughts in his questions. He's easy to read.

Unlike some people she could mention.

"I'm not scared he's going to make fun of me," Foxtrot says, twisting Tango's fringe around her finger. It's only like 75% true, but Tango doesn't need to know that. "I'm just worried he won't like it. He doesn't really seem like the type of guy to appreciate hand knitted matching sweaters with his teammates."

"You don't know him as well as I do, though, do you?" Tango says. "He'll love it and besides, I need him to have one so we can finally match. You do realise that we can't be 'What the Fuck?' without Whiskey? We'd just be 'The Fuck'."

"You know, I think that's way more fitting," Foxtrot tries.

"Foxtrooooot," Tango whines. "Just suck it up and go over there already. Please? For me?"

Tango looks up at her, blue eyes wide and pleading. Foxtrot glares at him for maybe three seconds before she sighs. She's a strong woman, but she's not a monster. She's not going to say no to Tango's puppy dog eyes.

"Fine," she says, rolling her eyes to hide the fondness she feels when Tango's face lights up. "But you need to go. This is embarrassing enough without having you watch it."

"How is it embarrassing?" Tango asks, even though he's already rolling to his feet. "But if you want me to go, fine, I'll go. But can you call me when he accepts it? I want to get a photo."

Tango offers a hand down to her and Foxtrot takes it, letting him pull her to her feet. Then she crosses her arms against her chest, and tries to look intimidating.

"Go," she says.

"But will you call me?" Tango asks.

"Go!" she repeats, pointing away from the quad with one arm.

Tango laughs, tugs one end of her hair scarf affectionately, and goes.

Foxtrot picks up her bookbag, takes a deep breath and starts walking toward Whiskey.

God, this is a mistake, right? She's going to ruin everything. It's too early in their friendship, they've only known each other a few months and Whiskey hasn't ever really talked to her in all that time about anything other than hockey, and it's such a dumb idea anyway - just because Whiskey is attractive and they're in the same year and their nicknames are all cute and matchey doesn't mean he'd actually want to...

"Oh, hey, Ford!" calls Whiskey.

Foxtrot looks up. Whiskey's moved his headphones down to his neck, one of his hands raised in greeting. He's got that shy, little half smile on his face that never fails to make Ford's heart flip.

"Oh, hey, Connor," she says, in a voice that goes for casual but probably ends up somewhere more... affected. She rushes reach him and sits on the ground, crossed legged, in front of him. "How's it going?"

"Good," he says, softly. He lifts the book in his hand slightly before resettling it in his lap. "Trying to finish my readings before the roadie this weekend. It's hard to really focus on the bus when Tango's your seat mate."

Foxtrot's eyes widen in horror. She's just about to offer to change the bus seating plan when she sees the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smirk and realises he's joking. She laughs a little breathlessly, entirely unprepared for Connor Whisk possessing any kind of sense of humour.

It's good though. It makes him more human.

"We thank you for your sacrifice," she says, with a dumb little salute that she regrets immediately. "Also, I, uh, got you something."

She pulls the package out of her satchel and promptly flings it into Whiskey's face.

She's cool like that.

"Uh, thanks," Whiskey says, blinking at the package in his lap. "Can I open it now?"

Foxtrot nods, and Whiskey turns the package over in his hands. He gently peels the tape away from one of the edges. The suspense is killing Foxtrot, who twists her fingers together, resisting the urge to tear the package out of his hands and just rip the paper off for him.

Eventually, Whiskey slides the sweater out of the paper and into his lap. His face is unreadable as he unfolds the sweater and holds it up to read it. His arms are fully extended, holding the sweater as far away from him as he possibly can. He tilts his head as he considers it.

"Did you..." Whiskey starts, frowning slightly at the sweater. His brown eyes move from the sweater to her face before he tries again. "Foxtrot, did you make this?"

Oh. He's never called her 'Foxtrot' before.

He hates it, doesn't he? He hates it and he's trying to let her down gently. Foxtrot can basically feel her heart crumpling like a sweater stuffed into Whiskey's bottom drawer to never see the light of day again. God, she's so stupid to think this was actually a good idea.

"Oh, yeah, I did," she says, talking more to the grass next to Whiskey's legs more than to Whiskey himself. "I made ones for me and Tango too. I thought it'd be cute because we're all tadpoles, and our names are like Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot, you know? But if you don't like it..."

Her eyes are drawn back up to Whiskey as he yanks the sweater back towards him and, somewhat protectively, cradles it against his chest.

"I never said I didn't like it," he says.

There are sirens going off in Foxtrot's brain but she's not exactly sure what they're warning her about. In any case, her heart feels like it's going to leap straight out of her chest and into Whiskey's hands.

"Right," she says, a little breathlessly. "I'm glad you do."

Whiskey nods and drops the sweater into his lap. His thumb strokes over where his nickname is.

"This is really cool, Foxtrot," he says. "No one's ever made something like this for me before."

"Oh, it's nothing," Foxtrot downplays, still feeling a little anxious. "It's a fun skill to have, and I really like making things for people, and seeing them wear it and stuff. Not that I expect you to wear it! Please don't feel pressured, I won't be offended if you..."

"Of course I'm going to wear it," says Whiskey, quickly. He frowns at her for a second. "I'm gonna wear it right now."

"Wait, Connor!" Foxtrot says, her protest fading into delighted disbelief as Whiskey immediately shoves the sweater over his head.

"How does it look?" he asks, a little shyly, peaking up at her through his thick eyelashes.

And honestly? His hair is a mess, and the collar of his shirt is half tucked into the collar of the sweater, but the sight of the cool, untouchable Connor Whisk wearing a dorky sweater she made for him still sets Foxtrot on fire. There's no way she can answer that question without sounding like a twelve year old with a crush, so instead she reaches out, face burning, and tugs at the collar of his shirt, arranging it so it flops over the sweater just right.

"There," she says, thankful that her skin is dark enough to hide her blush. "Now it's perfect."

Whiskey smiles at her and is it just her imagination or does his face look a little more flushed than usual too?

"Uh, Tango wants a picture of us in them at some point," she says.

"I'll wear it to practice tomorrow," Whiskey offers. "If you guys bring yours we can get Chow or someone to take a picture for us."

"Sure, I'll let Tango know" Foxtrot says. "I'll leave you to your homework, then. See you tomorrow, Whiskey."

She shifts to push herself to her feet but before she can move far, Whiskey's hand shoots out and grabs her elbow. She looks up at him in surprise and his hand immediately drops to his side. His face is definitely more flushed than usual now.

"I, uh," Whiskey says. "I wanted to say I'm sorry that we haven't really hung out very much since you joined the team. Maybe we can do something together next week, after we get back from the Yale roadie? We could invite Tango too, make it a Tadpole thing?"

There's really no words that can describe the warm feeling that blooms in Foxtrot's chest at the question.

"I'd really like that, Connor," she says. She's sure the smile on her face must be huge and completely embarrassing. She gets to her feet before she says something else dumb and sappy and entirely too much. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'll see you." Whiskey says. "Thanks again for the sweater!"

"No problem!" Ford says. She offers him another smile and a wave before she practically runs away from him.

Her face is burning, but her heart is full.

**Author's Note:**

> The matching sweaters extra is probably my favourite thing Ngozi has ever drawn.
> 
> Anyway this fandom needs approximately 5381 more fics of Connor Whisk being extremely soft for Foxtrot and Tango ONLY #TeamWTF


End file.
